Banana Pancakes
by Spastic Bookworm
Summary: Rose hates being sick, and it's all the Doctors fault she is. He tries to make amends. Rating for safety. Short one-shot.


Disclaimer: All belongs to the BBC, and the title is all Jack Johnson's. (Good song, give it a listen!)

This is for Jael, cause she's sick. Get well soon, doll. (And because this is for her, it's only been read over by me cause she's my go-to gal.)

....Erm, time-wise? This is season 1, and can either be pre-Jack or during. It's totally up to you. He's not in it this, but he could very well be off in a jacuzzi somewhere.

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**Banana Pancakes**

Rose shivered as she reached for a tissue, her blanket falling away from the reaching arm and shoulder.

Someone moved the table farther away, she was sure of it. Probably the Doctor, she thought maliciously, wishing he'd get trapped under the grating for a while. It was all his fault she was sick.

"No, Rose. You won't need a coat. Or a jumper. It's summer, he said! Middle of-"

Finally grabbing the box, she plopped it down on her stomach and pulled one out just in time.

Sneezing three times in quick succession, Rose worried her brain was coming right out though her reddening nose.

"-a heat streak. It was winter, Doctor. Middle of a blizzard," she finished, wiping her nose.

She discarded the used Kleenex in the bin next to her and sank back into the downy pillow with a groan, drawing her arm back into the warmth of her blanket. She was content now to just close her eyes and sleep-

"Tea?"

The loudness of the voice drew a throb from her head and the voice itself a groan, but the word turned it into one of almost-pleasure.

"Thanks," she said, keeping her voice soft and hoped he took the hint while he noticed the 'th' didn't sound like a 'd' like it had the past two days.

She felt the Doctor came closer, felt his presence come to over the small table that used to hold her tissues, and now only held a old cup of tea.

She didn't want to open her eyes again. Didn't want the light she knew he would have turned on to hurt her eyes. So she just held out her hands for the mug. Drinking was easy with eyes closed; she learned that after her first bender, when even moving her head off the pillow hurt.

The Kleenex box, rising and falling with her breath, was lifted off her stomach and, curious, Rose resigned herself to blinding light and a smug-albeit slightly guilty Doctor. She opened her eyes to the sight of a still dim room and the Doctor looking pleased with himself.

Rose became suspicious.

The Doctor came up next to her and helped her sit up, fluffing the pillow into a better position for lounging.

Rose became more suspicious and wondered if the TARDIS had heard her wishing for him to get trapped in the grating. He'd be quick to further make amends if his ship wouldn't let him out until he agreed to…

And although he had done things for her- making her tea and toast when she asked, and bringing her boxes of tissues and medicine- he hadn't done enough yet.

Oh no, not nearly enough. She was burrowed in a blanket, in an old Liverpool hoody of Mickey's and thick sweatpants, her nose ached from all the sneezing, her head pounded… and all because he was 'a bit off on his timing.'

Rose really hated being sick.

So it would take more then a muttered 'sorry', and cups of tea before she stopped wishing-among other things-that he'd get lost in his own ship.

It wasn't mean of her, not really. When Terry Mills gave her mono in primary, she told the whole class he wet the bed still. So getting lost for an hour or so wasn't so bad.

And she could always get her own tea and toast, if he got lost. She'd just ask the TARDIS to move the kitchen next door, like she did for the loo when she decided she wanted to sleep on the sofa instead of in her room.

"Doctor?" She asked, voice still low, when he turned back to the table. He didn't answer, just lifted something and promptly set it on her lap.

She eyed it wearily. Her mouth opened and closed with nothing coming out.

It was a tray. A tray with large cup of tea, a glass of water and a plate that held something that looked suspiciously like pancakes on it.

Rose looked up at the Doctor with a slight, shocked, smile. "Thought you didn't do domestic?" It was all she could think to say.

"Eat up, they'll get cold," he whispered with a grin. Rose hesitated after she cut a piece. She'd like to say it was because it would be the first honest food past toast she's had since she got sick, but it was because the Doctor wasn't the best at cooking. She wouldn't tell him so, of course. He actually made her food. She wouldn't spoil it like that.

She put the bite in her mouth and chewed, quickly, incase it wasn't any good.

Surprised to find it tasting so well-surprised to find she could even taste things at all-and equally glad when her stomach didn't revolt, she took a larger bite, savoring it this time.

Swallowing again, she frowned. She looked from the Doctor to her plate then back again.

"Is that banana? You made me banana pancakes?" If her head wasn't still pounding at just the loudness of her fork clinking against the plate, she'd laugh.

The Doctor stood, arm crossed across his chest and grinned down at her. "Bananas are good."

Yeah, Rose decided as she took another bite, they really are.

But that didn't mean she'd stop wishing all his jumpers would turn pink.

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Comments are love, so are banana pancakes ^-^


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